


Ten Feet Taller

by polandspringz



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25438291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polandspringz/pseuds/polandspringz
Summary: Snufkin finally reaches his breaking point. Moomintroll listens. The two make a promise, but it will take time for Snufkin to come around to fulfill it. A fic through the seasons, and the years as the friends grow and age alongside and far away from one another.(Originally posted in 2019 on Tumblr)
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll & Lilla My | Little My, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll & Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Ten Feet Taller

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted in April 2019 after I watched a few episodes of Moominvalley. It was written before watching a lot of the series, so it is pretty loose in concept. I realized I never posted it on AO3 and decided to correct that. At the time, it had been inspired by [this post](https://lionettea.tumblr.com/post/184370113262/ok-no-one-asked-for-this-but-here-comes-some) and then [my own post](https://polandspringz.tumblr.com/post/184380091778/watching-ep-2-of-moominvalley-and-seeing-moomin) which was basically the concept for this fic before I wrote it. This work is old and not betaed. I apologize for any mistakes.

Seasons were important to Moomins. Winters are spent in hibernation, springs are about waking up and cherishing loved ones who you had missed while asleep. Midsummers are around the bonfires, and falls were for slowing down, learning to relax once more as sleep would soon overtake the species once more. Moomintroll had seen his fair share of seasons, and while Moominpapa and Moominmama would always talk about tradition with the celebrations and customs that were to observed, Moomintroll had his own thoughts for what should be done when a change blew through the valley.

As a child, he too had believed that the snowy months were designed for nothing but resting, but many years ago, he was lucky to learn that adventures could be had in the cold too. Snorkmaiden had mentioned once that snow droplets were meant to symbolize the return of loved ones, and to Moomin, they always seemed to blossom a brighter white when Snufkin’s springtime tune came whistling through the trees of the forest that weaved between the mountains. Summers were full of Little My’s schemes, hatched to torment Moomin no doubt, and several hands reaching towards the starry night sky as they all tried to catch the fireflies the formed constellations on the wind.

Falls were the most different to him though. Fall was always fast-paced, and no matter how he tried to savor it, Snufkin and him had to jampack so many memories into that season, as even if Moomin had decided to stay up for the first fews of winter in case Snufkin wanted to stay, he never did. He needed time to be alone, and Moomin understood, even if it made his heart sad, he needed to let him go. As the sun set and the snow began to collapse on their world, the orange sunlight would shine on it like colorful crystals that shimmered beside Snufkin’s smiling face, eyes crinkled as they closed and the twinkling sound of the snow through the icy air chimed.

For many years, Moominmama and Moominpapa stood by him as he waved him off, and then, a change happened, and Snorkmaiden took their place, trying her best to comfort Moomintroll once the shadow of their friend had faded into the brush. And then, a few more seasons came and went, and Moomintroll was standing next to Little My as he waved, her body smaller than ever as her back had become hunched and her hair faded from autumn leaves to the silver of snow against the cobblestone.

Even with all those memories, Moomintroll still felt that every year had a different set of seasons, and each of them should be treated as such, not grouped together. Certainly some shared similar moments, but there were many that stood out in his mind as special and unique.

The first spring that Snufkin arrived...

The winter when he had met Too-Ticky...

The summer when he had noticed that Snufkin was different. It followed a year with a spring where Snufkin had been late arriving to the valley, when it had taken him two extra days to show after the warm air had settled over the grassy hills, and Moomin had grown worried with the fear that his friend was not returning that year. That perhaps he had done something at the end of the winter that had offended his nomadic friend, but all doubts disappeared when Snufkin returned the morning after, and soon they were up to their heads with dragons, avoiding Little My’s pranks, and on the quiet days, fishing along the river as Snufkin played his harmonica or told stories of what new things he had seen.

It wasn’t until the next summer that Moomin noticed Snufkin’s quiet days became a quiet week, and they weren’t full of stories or fishing. They were full of silence, of frowns and shielded eyes. Snufkin became snappy, which was common for when they were dealing with Sniff, but it was rare that he ever became hot headed at Moomin, or, it became rare after that summer, because never before had he acted that way towards him. Moomin learned of the course of that summer that if Snufkin didn’t leave his tent which was on the banks of the river, you didn’t knock to wake him up. If he didn’t stop by for food, you told Moominmama that he already ate. If he was found asleep on a hill, hat pulled over his face and harmonica abandoned, you didn’t ask for a tune, you tiptoed by. Even the animals learned this, and stayed away.

Little My said that Snufkin would get better with distance, that it was like he always had said, he needed some alone time, but then summer came to pass and fall arrived and suddenly they both became acutely aware of how they were running out of time yet neither one of them could seem to cross the rift to the other. Moomin felt horrible, felt guilty, and that was fall that had autumn sucked out of it, and it didn’t just feel slow, it felt endless. Something he had always wished for with that season was now misery when granted, and it was suffocating. Little My tried to take his mind of things by dragging him out to the forest to play, and it was there that he encountered Snufkin, rageful and spiteful as he spat out words at the Moomin who had surprised him, a single crunch of a leaf burning down months of walls in the worst way possible.

But, that was the fall that he saw Snufkin cry.

Little My disappeared, and the two of them sat down on the fiery rubble of their isolation and Snufkin stumbled over his words, his fingers twitching like he longed for his harmonica to be in place of his lips, playing notes that he knew would convey it but through the tears and the choked sobs being unable to play his voice in that same way. Moomintroll stopped his quivering and apologies though, and made it very clear to Snufkin that whatever was bothering him was no burden to him. He promised to listen to him and that Snufkin wasn’t taking away from their time together.

“You would probably rather be doing something fun,” Snufkin said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“We can have fun later,” Moomin said, resting a hand on the other’s back, “Take your time.”

This was _their time._

When all was said and done, and secrets were shared between the two of them, they took one another’s hand and stood, red eyed against the red sun that was setting. They realized that this was supposed to be their last day together of the year.

“I can’t stay, I’m sorry Moomin, I can’t, if I do-”

“It’s alright,” he told his friend, no sadness on his expression, “We’ll get through this. Will start with this winter. Then, when you return, that’s step two. Okay?”

Snufkin rubbed his eyes again, his soft voice made almost inaudible by his tight throat, “Okay. I’m ready now.”

That evening, Snufkin set out like always, and Moomin did not sleep that winter. While Little My rested in his bed, he worked day and night preparing for Snufkin’s return, so when the birds came singing the new spring tune, and that green hat came barreling out of the forest on that first day, he could give him the promise that he would never forget him.

Many years came and went, and as much as he wished they wouldn’t, memories began to blend together. Even after their talk and the follow-up that next spring, there was one year where Snufkin came two seasons late, one when he left half way. Traditions were broken, and that familiar spring tune was altered by the babbling of the summer’s brook or the cut up by the mystery of the fall’s weather. Moomin always forgave Snufkin for these visits, as often the stories he brought made up for why he was late or why he had to leave early. A promise to a friend, a letter from his father that had mysteriously appeared. Sometimes, he didn’t have any stories at all, sometimes, he had nothing to share, but Moomin killed his apology before it could be voiced.

“You don’t have to say sorry, I understand,” Moomin said, and Snufkin smiled.

This only seemed to make things worse. One year, Snufkin didn’t return until late fall, and he happened to stroll into the valley on a day where the skies were gray and the clouds were heavy. Moomin was nowhere to be found, and Snufkin was afraid his worst fears had come true. He broke into the Moomin household, only to discover Little My at the kitchen table, angrily awaiting his arrival.

“Moomin’s upstairs. Moominmama and Moominpapa have passed.”

Snufkin helped his friend bury his loved ones. He stayed that winter. He promised never to be late again. It also seemed that he was never going to go, even though Moomin could see how much being tied down was killing his friend.

“You need to go, Snufkin,” Moomin told him when the next fall came, “You’ve missed out on so much.”

“I can’t, Moomin. I’ve been a terrible friend, you needed me, and I almost didn’t come back. What would you have done if I had been a day late? What would you have done if I didn’t come back at all?”

Moomintroll grabbed his friend’s face and stared into his eyes, speaking as firmly as he did the day they had their talk that summer, “I would have been fine, Snufkin. I’m fine in Moominvalley. However, you’re not fine yet. You _need to be alone._ Go, Snufkin. I’ll be okay.”

He will never forget how Snufkin began to tear up again, “Are you sure?”

Moomin nodded, “I’m ready now.”

It had been many seasons, many years since that day. That was the year that Little My stood beside him and bid Snufkin goodbye. Their friend had faded into the forest, and even as light trickled in from the canopy of green leaves that lined the top of the forest, no shadows ever passed through their sunrays. For many years, Moomintroll just sat on the porch in his mother’s rocking chair, on rainy days he sat in his father’s study while Little My cooked meals, and out the window he would be watching the bridge over the river, waiting for that green hat to come across it.

Eventually, Moomin succumbed to his age and he could no longer avoid the urge to hibernate all winter long, and his years without sleep had made him dizzy towards the end of the fall. After much coaxing, Little My managed to get him to bed, but not until he made her promise to wake him at any sign of Snufkin.

“Go to sleep you big oaf. He’ll be back in the spring, I’m sure of it.”

_Like always_ had disappeared, but promises weren’t empty things. Snufkin hadn’t broken his promise, and neither had Moomin. They just hadn’t fulfilled it yet.

They would fulfill it.

Moomintroll awoke to the sound of the spring singing in through his open window, Little My standing above him, a smile on his haggard, old face. Her hands on her hips, she gave Moomin a powerful kick that sent him rolling out of bed.

“I told you he would be back, you oaf. Now, hurry up before he thinks you’re gone too.”

Moomin changed out of his pajamas and took off down the stairs, ignoring the creak of his old bones as he passed by all the windows in the house, open as their curtains danced in the breeze, the hum of nature growing louder and more shrill as birds, beavers, and other animals joined in on the song.

The door flew open, and white feet descended down the porch steps. The song stopped and the player lowered his harmonica, hand dropping at his side. The music paused for a gasp, and then a call of the other’s name. A white, furry hand waved in the air, a green hat fell to the wayside as it’s owner took off. To the bridge, the two old friends raced towards each other with open arms, and the one with the yellow scarf tackled the other so they both fell backwards and rolled into the river.

They surfaced with laughter, and they gazed at one another with glowing eyes as the yellow sun rose on the blue sky, morning dew speckling the grass around the banks and across the flowers of the valley. With the help of one another, they pulled themselves out of the water and stood on the firm ground of the hill, and awaited the other to say it first, but realization soon dawned on each other, and they were both giddy with excitement that had been locked away since childhood for this day.

Little My stood on the porch, shaking her head as she heard them shouting the words back and forth and each other, voices growing louder and louder until they were in unison and jumping up and down with joy.

“You’ve been ready for decades now, you goofs. All of us have known that much.”

Moominmama and Moominpapa were resting on the cliffs in the back of the valley, where Too-Ticky had asked Moomintroll to take care of the lost souls many years ago. Little My had picked that spot out for them herself, and Moomin and Snufkin had agreed. It just so happened that a few days into Snufkin’s return, the two of them had to dig a third, smaller grave, and Moomin sprinkled it with snow droplets after it was covered up.

That evening, the two friends sat inside the house at the kitchen table, empty cups of badly brewed tea beside some plucked flowers.

“She was disappointed in us, huh?”

“No, I think she understood too.”

“Again, Moomin, I’m sorry it took so long but I-”

“No, remember, enough with the sorrys. Remember what we said?”

“Yes.”

“Well then…”

The two of them took a breath, their old lungs weak but still able to take in the scent of the evening springtime air, and let it out with that old expression they had decided upon years ago.

“Okay. I’m ready now.”


End file.
